


Twined Together

by Jade_Masquerade



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonsa babies - Freeform, Queen in the North Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: The Wall is a lonely place, except for when Sansa comes to visit, and each and every one of those times Jon doesn’t think his heart could feel more full.





	1. Love and Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 1: Love and Duty

Spring had been kind to Sansa, and the far North too, Jon thought, enjoying the beauty of both as they rode, her dappled grey mare close to his black gelding. 

Even after weeks together, he still found it equal parts disconcerting and dazzling to see her here, the Lady of Winterfell and the Queen in the North beyond the Wall, touring the far North, where few Starks had ever gone—or at least few who ever returned to tell the tale. She wanted to know her kingdom, though, and Jon was only too happy to oblige. By day Sansa conversed with the free folk through whose homes they passed and learned of their lands, while at night she laid beside him, wishing to know all he’ll tell her of the sights they saw that day and the people they encountered until they drifted off to sleep. 

Her furs scarcely overlap with his, and yet it is intimate in a way he cannot describe, something he can only _feel,_ and feel he does, his heart aching as they turn back towards Castle Black, their tour and their precious time together coming to an end.

They were within a day’s ride back to the Wall when he led her off the path and into a grove of trees, towards the cave that served as a den. 

Ghost stood watch over them like usual; they were bigger now, no longer the tiny, mewling bundles of fur they had been when he discovered them in the first throes of spring. They were far from full grown though, and they still played exuberantly with each other like the pups they were, nipping and squealing and rolling atop the branches of pine that lined the ground. 

“I don’t know what happened to their mother,” he said, “But Ghost’s stayed with them ever since.” 

Sansa gasped when she spotted them, sliding down from her horse to coo over every one of the litter, holding them in turns as they each sought her attention. 

“You could take one back to Winterfell,” he offered. He would have given anything to see that look of wonder grace her face every day, wishing for Sansa to have this bit of happiness in her life, that she could have someone to keep her company, someone to protect her in his absence. “They’re sweet enough to live in a castle, I’d reckon.” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Sansa said. “It wouldn’t be right to separate one from the rest.” 

He intended to tell her that it wouldn’t cause any harm, that soon they’d be grown and go their separate ways anyway, but when he glanced back, he saw her eyes filled with tears. 

“You must think I’m so silly,” she said, swiping them away. 

He should have turned away and allowed her a moment to compose herself, should have said something to cheer her perhaps, could have pretended not to notice them. 

Instead, he murmured, “No, I don’t think you’re silly at all,” and took her into his arms, meaning to comfort her as he had before long ago, when she ran into his arms at Castle Black, or when they’d spoken of winter coming up on the ramparts of Winterfell, or when he’d returned from Dragonstone with danger on his heels. 

She crumpled, letting the tears slipped down her cheeks while he wondered if she cried for those motherless pups, cried for Jon, for herself, each one of them alone. 

And when she pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes a darkened blue, flitting to meet his before dropping to his lips, he kissed her without thinking, only feeling, wanting to ease that pain she felt if just for a moment. 

It was then Sansa asked him, confessing she trusted no one else more, that she dreamed of Winterfell full of children once more, that her crown, her heart, would remain empty without the family she craved. He took little convincing to agree, anything to dry her eyes, to win her smile. 

That night they shared their furs and more: endless kisses, touches slow and lingering til they turned hungry and desperate, whispers of wants and worship. 

Once he was King in the North, and this would have been his duty, so was it not all the same? 

That’s what he knew he would tell himself when he returned to this moment in the dark of night, when he sat alone atop the Wall or when he wondered if his intentions had been honorable, if that was what he needed to think of this as, love and duty twined together into one.


	2. Anniversary and First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 2: Anniversary and First

The doors to Castle Black opened, and seeing Sansa again was like spring come once more after the desolation of winter. 

Even now, with summer at long last in full bloom, Sansa outshone the best the North had to offer, her smile as radiant as sun glittering on the rivulets of melting ice running down the length of the Wall, the blue of her eyes even brighter than the color of the roses breaking through the ground, her hair glowing like fire against the drab ramparts and the surrounding stone. 

Precisely sixteen moons had passed since she made her return to Winterfell, Jon marking the anniversary of each with a particularly fierce bout of brooding and self-pity. Would she have sent a raven if anything had become of their dalliance? Had she found someone more befitting of her position, someone who could sit beside her with a crown and title and lands of his own? Did Sansa ever think of him, full of love and longing, the way he thought of her? 

It had been worth every moment of that worrying and wondering, though, for this one. 

He dropped to a knee before her small retinue. “My Queen.” 

Sansa giggled at his formality and motioned for him to stand. “Jon, you know you don’t need to bother with these frivolities.” 

He did know, but he also knew how she had enjoyed when he sang her praises, how she flushed when he called her “Your Grace” abed, how she writhed when he worshipped her in other ways, with his mouth and hands and tongue, not that he could make mention of any of that now. 

“Back again so soon?” he teased instead. “Do you pay all your lands this kind of attention?” 

“Not all of them, I’m afraid.” She shook her head. “It’s a bit difficult to travel when one’s with child or hampered by a newborn babe.” 

He froze at her words, his heart thumping as he watched one of her guards dismount to help Sansa off her horse, and it only quickened as she drew back the edge of her cloak to reveal the bundle concealed beneath. 

Sansa neared, and his stomach seemed to knot upon itself until he could delay no longer and glanced down. 

Jon knew little in the way of babes, and this one seemed so tiny, enveloped by swaddling clothes, though not quite a newborn he suspected in the way she raised her head to look at him, or how she smiled when his eyes met hers, grey on grey. He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“She’s…?” he asked when he found his voice again. 

“There’s been no one else,” Sansa said softly, watching his expression turn from bewilderment to awe. 

He was certain the look of wonder that filled his face now made even the one he saw Sansa wear with the direwolf pups pale in comparison as he took his daughter in his arms for the first time.


	3. Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 3: Sin

The second time he laid with Sansa was nothing like the first. 

She was beautiful as ever, certainly, with her bright hair spread across the dark furs, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, and her lips rubbed red from their kisses, once more the very image Jon burned into his mind from then night they’d made love and he’d revisited on many an occasion since. 

This time, though, Sansa knew what she liked and had no qualms asking for it, even if it brought a blush to her cheeks and made her bite her lip, and Jon found himself only too eager to indulge each of her whims. Gone were her timid requests or tentative touches, replaced by a streak of brazen boldness as she undressed him and pushed him back on the bed. 

Lyanna, as Sansa told him she’d chosen for a name, had long since fallen asleep tucked into her own cradle, worn out by her journey north, and the rest of the castle sat silent at this hour. He could have spent the night simply staring at their daughter, listening to her coo and babble, admiring each of her tiny fingers, winding one of her dark wispy curls around one of his, but Sansa had other desires, and despite what some of the free folk once thought of him, he was only human.

Was it a sin, he wondered, to dishonor his queen like this, or would it be one instead to not do as she asked, to deprive her of his kisses and caresses while she begged for them? Was it more sinful still to curse as she wrapped her slender fingers around his cock, to mar her smooth skin with the nip of his teeth on her breast and the scrub of his beard on her thighs? 

No, he decided, he was well aware of his own sins, and it was those he thought of now in an effort to distract his mind from the swirl of Sansa’s tongue around his tip as he fought his urge to spill. This felt nothing like deceit or treachery, the plunge of a dagger, blood spilling scarlet into snow. There was no guilt in enjoying the slide of her lips down his length, no regret in relishing the way Sansa stroked him in time with her mouth, only pure pleasure. 

Could he be faulted for loving Sansa this way, when her warmth made him feel more alive than any cold bite of wind or sweet summer day? How could anyone condemn the way they felt for one another, when the rest of the world beyond these walls brimmed with such hatred and cruelty?

No, he affirmed, when Sansa at last sank down on him, nothing as lovely as the way Sansa flushed, or how her cunt felt clasped around him, hot and wet, or the divine sounds of her gasps and moans could possibly be wrong. 

And even if it was, he welcomed any damnation that felt as good as this.

In any case, he was quickly absolved by Sansa herself, the quickening of her breath, the scrape of her nails down his chest as she dug into him, the feeling of her fluttering around him signaling her peak, and he spilled his seed as she rode out every last wave of it. 

Sansa leaned down to kiss him, and when he wrapped his arms around her, he could care little of what the gods thought as he knew he held his own heaven in his hands.


	4. Lazy Days and Workout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 4: Lazy Day and Workout

Jon watched as the little girl—_his_ little girl—tried endlessly to perch atop Ghost, the direwolf gently but nonetheless firmly dispatching her each time she managed to surpass his shoulders. 

It was hard to equate this spirited child with the sweet swaddled babe he’d held in his arms during Sansa’s last visit. 

Not only could Lyanna now walk, she could run and jump and climb, not only could she talk, but she told him of all the wonderful things they saw on their ride north to the Wall, and she took every opportunity to beg permission to ride his tall black gelding. He’d promised her later, though, so instead it was Ghost who occupied her for the moment. His heart squeezed when he thought of how much she took after Arya, right down to the breeches she wore in place of a dress and the dirt smudged on her cheek. 

A year and a half younger, Robb tried to keep up with his sister’s cavorting on his little legs, his blue eyes bright and his shock of auburn hair glinting in the autumn sun. Ghost had brought along a pack with him, the very pups he and Sansa had visited on their return to the Wall that day long ago, who were now grown wolves in their own right, and they surrounded Robb, his delighted squeals and giggles filling the yard as they licked him. His bow and wooden sword laid abandoned beside him for now, but he had already taken an interest and demonstrated a deftness with them, just like his namesake. 

Jon found it strange to suddenly see this whole, complete person without having witnessed a moment of his growth in between, and he imagined what Robb looked like as an infant, if he’d enjoyed making faces or being tossed in the air and caught again like Lyanna had, or if he’d preferred quieter activities, rocking or listening to Sansa sing. 

It was painful to think of them like that, and more still to think of Sansa laboring to bring them into this world without him at her side, of her being the sole one to wipe away their tears and bear their tantrums, yet it also filled him with pride to think of Starks filling Winterfell once again and he could think of few things that made his heart swell more than their children. 

Sansa stood beside him, looking on with a smile gracing her face and a hand on her belly. It was flat for now and he knew there would be nothing to see there, not yet anyway, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he might see someone else accompanying her next time, another boy to shoot arrows with Robb, or perhaps a girl clinging shyly to Sansa’s side. He didn’t prefer one image over the other; he would love either the same. 

His time to daydream, however, was cut short when Lyanna set her sights on the staircase leading to the winch, and Robb toddled after her. How silly of him to think this would be a lazy day, a time to rest after weeks of working tirelessly to make Castle Black fit for inhabitation by a retinue of guests once he’d received Sansa’s raven they were on the way and ensuring they had sufficient food for such an occasion. 

“You’re certainly getting your exercise,” Sansa remarked when he returned from his chase. 

The sprint reminded him of how sweetly his muscles ached from their lovemaking the previous night, when Sansa had kept him up after their late arrival. Not that he’d minded, of course, hearing about their journey and Winterfell and the latest news from the south, nor the subsequent kissing that had quickly turned to more. 

“Aye, at all hours, it seems,” he grinned. 

Sansa gave him a look filled with meaning, and even he could recognize the kind of glint in her eye. “I hope you save some of that strength for later.”

“I’ll always have more for you,” he promised, the deep tone of his voice bringing a flush to her cheeks that never failed to arouse him. 

Sansa rested her head against his shoulder, and as much as he wanted to close his eyes, he refused to miss a second of this moment for anything.


	5. Clothes and Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 5: Clothes and Food

Jon did not have to wait long for Sansa to return. 

“I couldn’t wait any more,” Sansa explained when he greeted them in the yard. “They’re growing so fast, and I worried winter might fall again.” 

He soon realized why else she had rushed the visit as Sansa disembarked out of a carriage instead of dismounted from a horse.

For the first time, he saw her round with his child. 

Not even her flowing dress could conceal her belly, and he couldn’t help gawking at it as Sansa walked towards him, as he bent his knee and kissed her hand, and even still as he straightened again. 

His attention was soon drawn away, though, by someone else, or rather two someones. Lyanna and Robb did seem to have grown in the six moons they were away, Robb surer on his feet and faster, and Lyanna on her own pony now, delighting in how she could canter circles around the yard.

More men accompanied Sansa than before, too. There’d been some unrest in the south, and while he was grateful for their protection, Jon cast a weary eye over them as well. Her men were from houses of great repute in the North, they were certainly valiant and honorable, loyal and discreet, but still he wondered what they thought as their children ran about, wondered if he should trust them, what the others would think if they knew the truth of who had fathered the Princess and Prince in the North. 

Jon didn’t permit himself to ruminate on that, instead ushering them all into the common hall for dinner. It was a lively affair: a few of the curious free folk visiting struck up song and dance, and Sansa’s men quickly joined in once they partook in drinking the local fare, fermented goat’s milk. Jon preferred sitting, though, taking quick bites all the while still staring at Sansa, who seemed more radiant than ever. 

One of the times, she caught him looking and smiled. 

“Your dress—it’s lovely,” Jon said quickly to cover his lapse; it was certainly true, but hardly what he would consider to be the most exquisite part of the scene before him. 

“It’s new,” Sansa said, shifting closer to him and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I already don’t fit into the rest of my clothing.” 

“I’d imagine not,” he grinned, taking the opportunity to let his eager eyes run over her belly again. “You look beautiful, Sansa. Truly.”

She accepted his compliment with another smile, but then followed it up with a shake of her head as though he’d quite misunderstood. “No, I mean not even the clothes I wore the past times. Not even ones I wore when I was nearly eight moons gone with Lyanna or Robb.” 

Jon had always been good at sums, but he still ran the numbers through his mind several times, calculating how many months had passed since Sansa’s last visit and how many moons were still yet for her to go until he was certain of them, and his eyes widened in sudden realization. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t have to choose between the little boy practicing archery with Robb or the young girl who was every bit already a lady he’d dreamt of during Sansa’s last visit. Or perhaps there would be two boys, as thick as thieves as he and Robb had been as children, or two girls as different yet darling in each their own way as Sansa and Arya. 

“Two…?” he stuttered, dumbfounded, wondering if he knew little and less about this business of birthing babes. 

“The maester suspects as much,” Sansa said, color flooding her cheeks that only served to make her prettier. 

He thought of a thousand questions to ask, but they were interrupted by the plate of fresh lemon cakes that appeared before Sansa. She admitted she presently craved her preferred flavor so fiercely she’d brought a barrel of lemons with her, and he watched in amusement as she savored them, gratefully accepting the bits she shared. 

Come night, Jon discovered Sansa hungered for something else all together, and he held her tight against his chest as he pushed into her from behind. She had wanted to leave her shift on, but he finally managed to ease it off with words of admiration and gentle touches, and the sight of her bare at last made him groan. 

He delighted in the curves of her body—the swell of her breasts, the expanse of her belly, the way her hips moved in time with his. From here he could allow his hands to roam, and he slid them along each part of her in turn, loving how he could still make her flush as though it was the first time. He lifted one of her legs so it bracketed his own and rocked into her harder, slipping his hand lower to spread her wider and reach the spot he knew would make Sansa fall apart in his embrace. 

After, he sent up for another plate of lemon cakes, and they ate the sweets until Sansa’s eyes darkened with want again, and Jon wondered if they’d ever have enough of each other.


	6. Traditions and Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jonsa Sugar and Spice Drabbles Day 6: Traditions and Something New

It had become somewhat of a tradition by now, for the Queen in the North to pay her almost annual visit to the Wall. The children who came along had created a few of their own as well that they were eager to share with their youngest siblings, too young to recall their first time at Castle Black, nearly two years ago when they’d scarcely been more than babes in arms. During the moons after they returned home, winter had blown in with frigid winds and blanketing snows, preventing much travel or anything else for its duration, but the worst of it seemed to have passed now. 

As soon as they arrived, Lyanna and Robb set off on doing the things they always did: playing with Ghost and his pack of long-since pups, riding the winch to the top of the Wall when the winds calmed, and stuffing scarecrows to prop up on the ramparts and towers of Castle Black the way Jon and his brothers had once done to defend the Wall against the wildlings. 

Sometimes Jon suspected Lyanna knew. She was very bright, precocious for her age sometimes in a way that was almost maddening, and on more than one occasion she had pointed out how they matched the way none of her other siblings or their mother did: black hair, grey eyes. 

“You should come see Winterfell,” she told him when they departed from their last visit. 

“Maybe someday,” he said, and he wondered how long it would be until “someday” was not a sufficient enough answer. 

Sansa brought along something else, something new: a painting of the Queen in the North and her progeny, for him to keep. It was masterfully done, whoever the artist had been managing to capture the perfect blue of Sansa’s eyes, the fierceness of Lyanna’s Stark gaze, and Robb’s charming smile. Jon surmised it had been completed during the thickest stretch of winter, around a year or so ago, based on Theon’s still-toothless grin and the lack of Alysanne’s bright red curls, which now ran all the way down to her shoulders, bouncing as she finally felt bold enough to leave Sansa’s side and bound after her siblings. 

Sansa meant it as a kindness, he knew, but it still twisted his heart to see their likenesses all together like this. 

They made a pretty picture, he had to admit, this family he and Sansa made together, and they reminded him so dearly of the one they had once before, before summons south and marriage betrothals to monsters, rebellions and northern freedom, halls of faces and three-eyed ravens, he couldn’t help but mention it to Sansa. 

“We’d be missing Rickon,” she said, tracing over an empty space with a sad smile. When she’d written him after the twins’ arrival, she had told him she would have chosen that name as well had two boys been born. 

Too many people milled around at the moment for him to comment aloud that they could certainly rectify that, and he made a note to share that thought with her later when they were tucked away alone in his chambers.

“And Father,” she said. This time, she watched for his reaction. 

“He was never my father,” Jon murmured. He’d spent more time thinking about that than anything else in his time here, and how little he knew, he had ever known, even about himself.

“So be theirs,” she said.


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late but written for Day 7 of Jonsa Sugar and Spice

Winterfell looked the same as the image he’d held in his memory all these years, Jon thought, as he neared its walls. Its ramparts had clearly been fixed after the onslaught of the dead, and the towers toppled by an ice dragon rebuilt to their full height. Green grass now stretched over the muddy, burnt fields where living and dead alike had fallen during the Long Night, smoothing over the places pyres smoldered for weeks after, and gorges where he’d faced off against Ramsay Bolton and Stannis’s troops had attempted before him. 

Fully restored, Winterfell looked like the formidable fortress it had been for the centuries the Starks ruled the North. To Jon, though, it was more than that. 

It looked like home. 

Ten years was a long time. Long enough, he hoped, for certain memories to soften, for bitterness to fade, for forgiveness to be found. 

It certainly had been, for himself. 

He had seen Sansa exhilarated and laughing after galloping across fields beyond the Wall, full of pride and joy as she brought another one of their children along to Castle Black, flushed and breathless after they made love. He had known she ruled the North, had little difficulty picturing her sitting in the chair at the fore of the Great Hall that had belonged to the Kings of Winter or leading their bannermen, the role so suited for her, an inevitability. 

And yet those times had still not prepared him for the sight of her waiting in the courtyard, radiant and ethereal and regal, the silver of her crown shimmering atop her red hair, her dress gleaming dove grey against the blue sky, her smile dazzling. 

This time, he didn’t bother to kneel. 

Tears flowed as he took her in his arms, mingling with her hair, and they only flowed freer still as Lyanna and Robb ran to them and threw themselves around his waist, and Alysanne and Theon twined around their knees. 

Soon enough, they were joined by more. Ghost and his pack surrounded them, the younger wolves now accompanied by pups of their own, who nipped playfully at their heels as the children giggled, their embrace crumbling away as they dissolved into peals of laughter. 

“You offered for me to take one once,” Sansa said, watching her children frolic with the wolves, a smile on her face, even while some of her men looked on in concern for the young princesses’ and princes’ safety. “And now here they are, all of them.” 

“Aye, I suppose they never did go their separate ways,” he said. He glanced down when Sansa took his hand in hers. 

“Would you take us all?” she asked. “To be yours, truly.” 

As the sun set, they gathered in the godswood. Jon stood with his back to the solemn face of the heart tree as he waited for Sansa, and he wondered if Bran watched from afar, if he knew, if he’d always known. Perhaps they could visit him in King’s Landing or welcome him in Winterfell, a visit to meet his nieces and nephews. They could send a raven to Arya too, wherever in the world she was, to tell her, to invite her home, or maybe she would reply with her whereabouts, and they could find their way to Braavos or Sothoryos or beyond the Sunset Sea. 

His heart burst with the possibilities, but they fled from his mind once Sansa appeared. Lyanna skipped down the aisle before her mother, followed by Robb, his wooden sword still in hand. Theon trotted after him, the tiniest pup clutched in his arms, and last came Alysanne, holding a small bouquet of winter roses. 

They made quick work of saying the words, and it didn’t seem right to drape her in his Night’s Watch cloak, so he let it fall to the ground instead. When he stripped off the rest of his black clothing later that night, he didn’t care what happened to it: if each piece went missing somewhere along the way to their chambers, if Sansa tore it to shreds in their haste, if it all fell into the fire lit in their grate. 

There were more important matters to attend to first, though. He kissed Sansa, a kiss as sweet and passionate and tender as they had ever shared, yet more than that, sealing, in perpetuity, forever. 

Winterfell would be whole once again with their family in it in a way it hadn’t been since he could scarcely remember. And maybe their pack would grow, even, if they were fortunate. 

Most importantly, though, come winter or anything wayward, Jon knew their pack would survive together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've always wanted to write a series of interconnected drabbles like this, so I really enjoyed writing this story! :)


End file.
